The Story of Dais, Warlord of Illusion
by Alexandria the Great
Summary: Again, violence and gore make the rating. Author of The Story of Anubis, Warlord of Cruelty. ******************************Please review CH 41 of my GW story Peacetime Wars!!!!!***************************************************************************


            Demos meant 'illusion' in the Olde Archer tongue.  And here, in the country of Frothska, there was a prince named Demos.  Despite the meaning of his name, he was a very truthful person and was know throughout for his honesty.  When he practiced martial arts, he did so with grace, dignity, and, when needed, honesty.  He never stole another's technique; he never claimed to be a great choreographer.  He just was himself, Demos of Frothska.  

            Frothska, for the most part, was a peaceful place.  Should the need ever arise, their army, called the Frothska Militia Horde, was constantly training and bettering themselves.  The prince promised to join them when the time for war came, for he'd always dreamed of being a great warrior like his great-grandfather, who was named Dais, but fell was killed in a great battle against an evil entity called Talpa, but thanks to Dais, the entity was sealed away. 

            Demos was in his twenties when he fell in love with a slightly younger girl named Riana.  Riana was a perky beauty with the hearts of many others, but her heart belonged to Demos.  Demos smiled when he was with her, and smiled like he would with no one else.  The two married on his birthday and Riana became the queen of Frothska.  It was an unbreakable union.

            When a foreign power threatened his country, King Demos joined his army and prepared to fight them.  The Queen wasn't the sort that would be left behind to care for the children (they had none, anyway), so she took up a sword and followed the man she loved in hellish endeavors where the strength of their love shown in battle after battle.  

            But something happened after the third battle, their third victory over the intrusive foreigners: Demos began acting strange.  All he could think about was fighting, all he could talk about was fighting, and his world became black with hatred of peace.

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            When King Demos had had a particularly hard day on the battlefield, his queen entered his tent and climbed into bed with him.

            "Demos, my lover, my King," she started quietly.

            "What is it you want, my dear?" he responded groggily.  

            "I am having womanly pain.  May I not participate in battle on the morrow?"

            "I need you," King Demos insisted, sitting up and taking her hand, "You are my best warrioress. The morrow is crucial." 

            "I understand, my love, but I haven't enough strength—"

            "Nonsense, my love, you merely need a few hours' rest.  You will be fine on the morrow."

            "Yes, my king."  She paused and he almost fell asleep. 

            "I carry your child." She muttered suddenly. King Demos shot up and got out of bed.  He went to his wife's side.  She smiled.

            "You…you…jest!" 

            "No, highness, I tell you the truth.  Our baby grows inside of me."

            "Oh, my love!" King Demos held his queen in his arms and kissed her over and over again.  "Is it a son or daughter?" 

            "I know not, my love," chuckled the queen, "But perhaps I could fight after all…"

            "Under no circumstances are you to set foot on that battlefield! I will have some one to guard their queen and their prince or princess."  King Demos left.  Queen Riana waited.  A few minutes later, he returned, and got back into bed. 

            "On the morrow," he fell asleep.  The queen giggled until she was exhausted and fell asleep as well.  

            Nearly a year of fighting later, King Demos and Queen Riana welcomed a baby girl into the world and named her Deana (dee-ana).  King Demos was overjoyed, and took all his energy on the battlefield.  When he returned home, the high was down.  The baby cried.

            "You will not hold her, Demos?"

            "No; I am weary; I want to be bothered not by a child."

            "But she is your child—"  
            "Are you dense, woman?" King Demos yelled, at her, "I will not be bothered!"

            "You do not love us anymore," the Queen said softly.

            King Demos slapped her.  "Don't be absurd! I do love you! I am _weary_, weary, woman, not hateful."

            "You certainly fooled me." the queen added.  King Demos was very angry.

            "Get away, woman! Leave me be! You and that miserable child that despises me anyway!" 

            Queen Riana gathered the baby and went to stay with one of the other men, who let her have his bed.  

            When he was alone, King Demos cried.  What had become of his youth? He was over thirty now, and felt old.  He looked in the mirror.  He was born with snow-white hair like his great-grandfather Dais, and had always been told by the elders that he resembled him quite a bit with his muscular build and square jaw.  He looked hard at his reflection.  It darkened.  It swirled.  It was am iron mask with two gleaming yellow spots for eyes.  Demos dropped the mirror, startled, and backed away.  A mist rose from the shards.  The mask had and iron-clad body and was taller than he.  

            "You are worthy of me, warrior-king," the masked entity had a booming voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  "If you can save them."

            The entity suddenly vanished and cries were heard from all around.  King Demos rushed out.  

            The camp was under attack.  Huge soldiers in bulky armor similar to the masked-entity's ripped through everything and killed off the Frothska Militia Horde.  One thought came to Demos' mind: his family. 

            "Riana! Deana!" he screamed, tearing through the place and steel warriors.  He called to his family over and over again, but received no response from the ones he loved.  He screamed a blood-curdling war cry. 

            "ATTACK!" the troops that weren't already out were roused and immediately began to take down the strange monsters with their swords, spears, and arrows.  King Demos broke his sword and was thrown to the ground.  In front of him, a many-scythed weapon with a hand-sized handle neatly lay.  He knew it was laid there for him.  He picked it up and threw it forward, shooting the scythes forward and taking down the monsters ten by ten.  In the thick fighting, he heard a heaven-sent voice:

            "My love!" Queen Riana called to him from the top of a high rock, Deana strapped to her with a sling. 

            "My love!" he called back, but made one move—and a monster punched him in his eye with all his might.  

            "AHHHHH!" Demos screamed in an almost womanly manner, grasping his eye and reaching here and there with his weapon and finally taking out the monster and nine of his brothers.  He turned to his queen, only to see her falling form the rock with a spear in her stomach.  

            "AHHHHH!" he screamed again, his heart hurting worse than his eye.  He charged to where they were.  Riana lay on top of Deana, who was punctured through the back and attached to her mother by the spear.  King Demos took a breath, closed his eyes, and fell over on the point of the spear.

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            But alas, he stood in a dim room, able to see through one eye and in strange armor with his last weapon sprawling out into the air from his backside.  

            "What…who…why…" nothing was anything, everything was nothing.  He was dead, wasn't he? No, no, he wasn't dead, but his loves were.  He looked at a nearby curtain, where two fires sat on two miniature podiums.  The entity's mask appeared.  

            "Send me back," King Demos ordered, "Send me back to my death at once!"

            "You are mine," the voice boomed, ricocheting off the hollow walls.  

            "I belong to my _family_!" King Demos hollered, red-faced and misty-eyed.

            King Demos could feel the entity's scowl like smile on him.  "That is what your great-grandfather said in his last hours."

            The kind was thrust into stunned silence.  This was Talpa.  

            "I do not like your name Demos, but you may keep part of it."

            Demos remained silent.

            "You are Dais, my Warlord of Illusion. Understand?"

            Demos was still silent.  Talpa decided he understood.  Demos felt Talpa smiling again. 

            "You are much like your great-grandfather, Dais.  This is the name by which you will be called from now on, Dais."

            Demos, now Dais, looked down, knowing that there was no more life for him to live.

            "Worry not, Warlord," Talpa assured, "your comrades will be here soon."

            And with that, Talpa vanished, leaving Dais alone in a strange, dark room.


End file.
